Carnival of Fear
by hbrackett
Summary: After Derek cripples Stiles, he offers to take the injured teen to a mysterious Carnival that visits Beacon Hills once every five years. An evening of fun ends when Derek annoys a powerful Gypsy witch who places a fearful curse on the Alpha. "You owe this boy a debt. The curse will remain until it is repaid!" "How can I repay him? LIKE THIS?" Derek shrieked. Sterek, R & R!
1. Chapter 1

The L'Morai Carnival was coming to Beacon Hills! It had been five years since the last time the traveling show had visited the town, and people who remembered the last festival filled the ears of those who had not with tales of wild rides, spectacular attractions, dozens of games of chance and the promise of genuine gypsy fortune-tellers who could read the future. It was June, and school had just ended for the students of Beacon Hills High School. Flyers littered the ground by the hundreds, inviting every resident to come and enjoy the wonders that would not be seen again for another five years.

Stiles and Scott had just emerged from the building, clutching report cards that (thankfully) announced they would be seniors in the fall. A flyer blew right into Scott's face, and a laughing Stiles peeled it off, reading it with a delighted grin.

"Wow! This is going to be awesome! You _know _we are going to this, right? Right?" Stiles glanced up to see Scott already dialing Allison and inviting her to go. Stiles rolled his eyes; heaven forbid the two could get in any bro-time for just one of the three nights the Carnival would be in town. Jackson and Lydia came down the steps holding hands, already planning to go together. Isaac and Danny texted Stiles at that moment saying they were going as part of their bizarre new straight/gay relationship. Boyd would no doubt take Erica. Happy couples everywhere, and Stiles was once again all by himself. He left Scott still chatting with Allison and went to his Jeep.

Leaning up against the Jeep was none other than that perky chatterbox, Derek Hale.

"Hey! Off my baby! You don't see me leaning all over your precious Camaro, do you?" Stiles complained. Stiles gave Derek a gentle nudge to emphasize his point (probably not the most brilliant idea in hindsight, but he was still peeved over Scott and Allison). Derek's hand whipped out as he grabbed Stiles and whirled him around with his signature 'Stiles Power Slam' to dent the side of the very Jeep he had just desecrated before being lifted off his feet.

Stiles groaned from the pain in his back and in sympathy for his beloved car. "How many of those are left before you fill your quota? What will you do when I go to college somewhere outside this stupid town and you have no more fleshy punching bag to vent your aggression on?"

Derek's eyes widened, and he stepped back, dropping Stiles with no warning. Stiles landed badly on his left foot and his ankle twisted sharply, causing him to give a short scream. He fell on his rear (more pain) before reaching out to massage his ankle. His bruised back and battered ankle sent simultaneous lightning bolts of pain to his brain causing another scream. In frustration, he balled his hand into a fist and struck the ground. Another scream.

Now actual tears were flowing, more from the embarrassment of being such a colossal klutz than the pain, although that was pretty bad too. Derek was watching him open-mouthed. "Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying put yourself in the hospital?"

"No, you stupid Sour Wolf!" he growled. "I sprained my ankle when you dropped me, and you hurt my back with your stupid loup-garou Kung-Fu! I'm just a freaking teenager, you can't keep doing this to me, you're gonna kill me one day! I just got healed up from Gerard Argent beating me to death a few days ago, and now look at me!"

Derek had the decency to look contrite. He helped the boy to his feet and put one of Stiles' arms around his broad shoulders, helping him to the driver's side of his car.

"Sorry, Derek…that's no good. Can't work the clutch with this ankle. Man, I can already feel it swelling up! You're gonna have to drive me home. You know how to drive stick?"

Derek was quiet for ten seconds. Then, "No."

Stiles shook his head. "Of course not. Werewolves only drive automatic. Well then, I guess it's the Wolfmobile. Not a scratch on _her_, I bet! You know, that makes _twenty-three_ dings in my Jeep from you slamming me into it? I counted the other day. Twenty-three, Derek. And not only will I be stranded at home for the next few days, but I am going to miss a Carnival that only comes once every five years while I am limping around my house! _ALONE!_"

Stiles was red-faced with anger, and somewhere in the back of his mind he felt he might be over-reacting just a bit…but he couldn't help it. This was the straw that broke the camel's back…or ankle anyway.

Derek was quiet as he helped Stiles to the black Camaro and hefted him into the passenger seat. He quickly got in the driver's side (probably to keep Stiles from touching any buttons or knobs in his precious car) and fired up the engine. Both men were quiet as they drove to the Stilinski home. Stiles closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, terrified he might have another panic attack and complete his humiliation. He'd begun having them ever since Gerard, and not even Scott knew how little sleep he'd gotten in the nights since then. His heart rate was already too fast, and his breath came in short gasps that made him feel like he was suffocating. Derek parked the car in front of the Sheriff's house and laid his hand on Stiles' chest.

"Stiles, come on…just breathe." Derek said in a voice as close to panic as Stiles had ever heard it. Hmph, no panic attack for Derek 'the flipping Alpha werewolf' Hale whose body could heal in seconds from almost anything, just like Scott and Jackson and Isaac and Erica and Boyd and Peter…Peter Hale who could come back from the _dead_, bastard that he was, while Stiles' own mother who was a saint had to stay dead and gone…Peter Hale, who had once offered Stiles the chance to be just like them, not weak, not powerless, not fragile…Peter Hale who was the only one to ever see the fear, anger and jealousy hidden deep in Stiles' soul.

Stiles hated him. Maybe he hated all werewolves, in fact. _Every one_ of them had hurt him at some point, even his best friend. He had been hurt _because _of them too many times to count. Why did he help them all the time? They were either ungrateful like Scott or abusive like all the others! What was wrong with him? Was he insane?

"Stiles! STILES!" Derek had real fear in his eyes now, his wolf senses not liking at all what Stiles' heart and lungs were doing, nor the increasingly furious scent coming off of him.

Eventually, Stiles calmed down and his face began to redden. He avoided Derek's eyes as if embarrassed.

"I'm ok. Just had a bad few moments there. Can…can you help me inside please?" His voice cracked on the last word.

"Yeah, of course." The angry scent was gone. Derek opened his car door and went around to help Stiles out.

Sheriff Stilinski opened the front door and rushed down the steps at them.

"Stiles? What the hell happened _now_?" His voice was angry, strained…and tired. Stiles had come home like this too many times. It was wearing on his nerves…he never knew what shape his son would be in when he returned home each night.

"Sir, I was in the parking lot waiting for Stiles when I-" Derek began. He intended to confess and take whatever consequences the Sheriff handed down. The man needed _something_ to lash out at, that was for sure.

"I tripped and sprained my ankle, Dad. Derek saw me and offered to drive me home." Stiles could not meet his father's eyes. He hated lying, and didn't want to see the disappointment and worry there anymore.

"Do you need to go to the hospital…again?" The Sheriff's walkie squawked, a wasp-like voice requesting his urgent presence down at the station.

Stiles shook his head. "I'll be fine. I'll just be limping a few days, that's all. I have some pain pills left over from when I got beat up by…that other Lacrosse team."

"I was going to see if you wanted to go to that Carnival…but it looks like I'll be working the whole weekend. I was trying to figure out how to break it to you."

"I can take him, Sheriff." Derek said quickly. Both Stilinski men gaped at him.

"Derek, you don't have to…" Stiles began.

"I want to. I mean it. I don't care if we need crutches, a wheelchair or if I have to carry you all over the damn place sitting on my shoulders, you are going. With me."

The Sheriff smiled at Derek, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Thank you, that means a lot to me what you've done for him. I don't forget things like that, Hale. Get him anything he wants, and I'll cover it."

"That won't be necessary. Stiles has…helped me out a great deal the past two years, and its time I showed some appreciation."

Stiles looked at him in wonder. The Sheriff bid them goodbye before getting in his cruiser to leave for the station. What sounded like a dozen enraged parrots were talking him through his walkie, and he burned rubber when he peeled out of there. Derek waited until he was gone before picking Stiles up and carrying him into the house and laying him gently down on the couch in front of the TV.

"Derek, why are you doing this?" Stiles asked as Derek went into the kitchen to get him a soda and a bag of Cheetos and a beer for himself.

"Why did you lie to your Dad? Why did you cover for me when I hurt you?"

"I have been lying to that man so long, I think the only time I tell him the truth is when I tell him I love him. Why ruin an otherwise perfect record? Besides, this way he doesn't worry…as much."

"We've been a pain in the ass to you, haven't we? Have you ever thought about getting away from us? This town?" Derek opened and drank his beer, looking at Stiles with unblinking eyes.

"I AM getting away from this town. I can graduate early and be at NYU for the Spring semester. Not even Scott knows. I was going to leave without telling anybody and see how long before they noticed."

Derek whistled slowly. "I can't say I blame you…but that's sticking the knife in deep."

"Yeah, well there's been a lot of knife-sticking lately. About time I joined the club."

Stiles clicked on the television to indicate that the discussion was at an end. Derek completely ignored Stiles' unspoken wishes and stood in front of the screen.

"What?" he asked, sounding peeved.

"Thank you, for everything you've done." Derek spoke the words as if they pained him. Stiles just gaped, then turned red.

"Um…no problem. Your welcome. Anytime you need me to do research or, you know, hold you up for several hours in a swimming pool, just call me."

Derek gave a brief rueful smile. "Damn, you're not making this easy. If there is anything I can do for you, Stiles…just tell me."

"What if I asked for the bite?" Stiles didn't even know he was going to ask that until the words were out of his mouth. He waited to hear Derek's 101 reasons why he thought it would be a bad idea.

If Derek was shocked at the question, he didn't show it. "Do you want it?" he said simply. His face was totally expressionless, but there was a definite red tint to his eyes.

Stiles gave a short harsh laugh. "That's all it took, huh? I just had to _ask_ after all this time? No thanks, I'll stay human. It would just be one more thing to lie to my Dad about, one more reason for psycho Hunters to try to kill me." Stiles looked at the wall, and Derek smelled the anger scent again.

"Why are you mad? If you want it, you can have it!" Derek snapped.

"After everything I did…I thought just maybe you would have asked _me._ You asked Boyd, you asked Isaac, you asked Erica. Only Jackson came to you. Why did you ask the other three, but not me? Don't you think I would have been good at it? Don't you think I earned it a hundred times? I think I would have still said no…but Derek, I really wanted to be asked by someone besides your creepy Uncle."

"Peter asked to bite you?" Derek's eyebrows tried to climb into his hair.

Suddenly Stiles wished he never brought it up. It was too wrapped up in how angry he was for always being ignored…by people who mattered to him, anyway.

"Yeah. He read me like a book and offered me the bite. I said I didn't want it, he told me I was lying, and he was right. He even said the only reason it was Scott and not me was _luck_. Why did Peter offer it to me, but you didn't and asked everybody else instead? What do you think is wrong with me?"

It was a really good question. Derek had no answer, had never even given the matter a moment's thought.

"The bite kills sometimes, Stiles. Not everyone turns." _'If they are too old or sick when they get it.'_ Derek thought.

"Do you think it would have killed me?" Stiles asked.

"No." Derek turned away from him.

"Then why?"

Derek thought long and hard, and his traitor mind promptly gave him an answer he didn't like. "Isaac…needed it. He wouldn't have survived his father otherwise. Erica needed it, because of the epilepsy. Boyd needed it because he was alone. I picked them because they would need me, just like I needed them. Don't ask me about Jackson, I can't even explain that to myself. But you…you don't need me, do you? You're strong, Stiles…stronger than anyone gives you credit for. I don't know what you'd be capable of if you turned. You might even be more than a match for me. That's why my wolf wants to slam you around all the time…it sees you as an equal…a threat. It wants to prove its dominance over you. Scott and the others sense it too, that's why they've all gone for you at some point. You scare them, Stiles. You scare me."

Derek abruptly turned and walked out of the house without so much as a goodbye. Stiles gaped after him in shock, then smirked and drank his soda down in one gulp.

"Yep. I'm a Badass!"

{}{}{}{}

The Carnival opened at 7 pm the next day, and Derek arrived promptly at 6:30. Stiles hobbled over to unlock the door; over the course of the day his ankle swelled up like a balloon and was useless to stand on. When he opened the door, Derek stood there with a pair of crutches in hand which he immediately handed over to Stiles. He took a few minutes to practice maneuvering with them before waving one at Derek. "Tiny Tim walks again! God bless us everyone!"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Are you ready?" he snapped.

"Yep, let's roll! Ok, I want roasted peanuts and salted pretzels and cotton candy and popcorn and hot dogs and gallons of soda and I want to go on all the rides and play all the games and maybe get my fortune told! Can we do all of that? Huh? Can we?"

"We'll see." Stiles hopped carefully down the steps and was able to lever himself in the car with almost no help from Derek.

"Don't worry, I don't think I'll last half the night on these. My armpits are already starting to scream." Stiles felt guilty at the look of barely controlled annoyance on Derek's face. Was the Alpha punishing himself by hanging out with Stiles? As much as he wanted to see the Carnival, he would rather stay home then go with someone who didn't want to be there with him.

"I have a wheelchair in the trunk. It was from when Peter was in the Long Term Care Facility. I'll wheel you around so you don't tire out your arms."

Wow, Derek was being thoughtful. It was probably painful for him.

"Are you sure…" Stiles began.

"Yes!" Derek snapped.

Stiles gave up and just enjoyed the ride.


	2. Chapter 2

The Carnival was set up on the edge of town in a huge clearing outside the Preserve. A tall wooden fence kept the public from watching the carnies and roustabouts from setting up the rides and attractions, but now it was down and Stiles gasped in awe at the sight. He'd never been to a real Carnival like this, and he was so excited he was bouncing around in Derek's seat.

Derek got out and removed the collapsible wheelchair from the trunk and set it up beside the car before levering Stiles into it. The crutches were stored in the backseat since Derek would be Stiles' chauffeur for the evening. The odors of popcorn and roasted peanuts and a dozen other mouth-watering foods assaulted them. Derek wheeled Stiles to the entrance and bought their tickets from a guy wearing clown make-up that was semi-creepy looking. He grinned at them and waved them through.

The ground was rough, and Stiles was bounced around quite a bit as they approached the midway. It must have been rough on Derek's arms, but the Alpha made no complaint.

The first booth they came to was one of those where you threw a baseball at some stacked bottles.

"Do you want to try?" Derek asked. Stiles shook his head.

"Here's where you get to be the best date ever by using all of those wolfy superpowers to win me the biggest prize in every game. I want that giant Snoopy for starters!" Stiles commanded.

Derek rolled his eyes and paid the $5 for three baseballs, but only took one.

"You get two more, Sir!" the dark-haired girl told him.

"I don't need them." Derek muttered. He wound up and pitched; the bottles flew in all directions as the ball hit the rear curtain with a solid _thunk._

The girl took down the Snoopy and told him that it would be sent to the courtesy booth up front under his name and he could claim it at the end of the evening. Derek gave her Stiles' name, and she wrote it down and wished them good luck at the other attractions.

"Booya! Let's find Scott and Allison so you can win whatever prize he wants to get for her and make him look like a lame boyfriend!" Stiles was bouncing again at the thought.

Derek growled under his breath, but that was a Shakespearean Sonnet in Derek's language. Had Stiles looked back he might have been a little alarmed at the scowl on Derek's face.

Within half an hour, Stiles had six more prizes waiting for him, including a giant Merida doll from Disney's 'Brave' that Scott had been trying to win for Allison. Scott looked so embarrassed and Allison so unhappy that Stiles felt his guilt monster take a huge bite out of his conscience. He resolved to give the doll to her the next day, along with an apology to Scott. It didn't occur to him until they walked off that Scott never even asked why Stiles was in a wheelchair with Derek pushing him.

They went to see the Hall of Freaks next. They saw the mermaid, the fire-eater, the bearded lady, and the man-eating shrimp (a guy sitting in front of a plate of shrimp, ha ha). Stiles wanted to see something called the 'egress' until Derek explained that just meant 'exit'. The sign was painted to make it look like some giant bird, but the door just locked you out so you had to pay to get in again. One of the attractions freaked Stiles out; it was a coffin with a real skeleton in it. The skull had two prominent fangs and there was a wooden stake in the rib cage. The sign claimed that it was a vampire killed by a famous Hunter. It further cautioned that to remove the stake would allow it to resurrect. They looked around; the coffin was unprotected. Stiles reached out a trembling hand towards the stake until Derek irritably slapped it away and wheeled him right out through the egress.

Derek took him to where the rides were. Stiles really wanted to go into the Haunted House with Erica and Boyd, but Derek said no since it couldn't accommodate the wheelchair and Stiles would probably hurt himself in the dark. Stiles secretly wanted the Alpha to scare the bejesus out of the fake monsters in there, but conceded that it wasn't a good idea. They did go on the huge Ferris wheel, the Tilt-A-Whirl, Salt n' Pepper Shakers, and an old-fashioned looking carousel that Jackson and Lydia had ridden on about twelve times. Derek looked positively green after all the rides and actually stumbled a few times while his equilibrium recovered, which did nothing at all for his worsening mood. Stiles gave him a break and they hit the snack stands where Stiles tried at least one of everything.

Derek became aware that he was getting angrier and angrier as the night went on; by the time Stiles started demanding food in his semi-imperious 'king' voice (he apparently thought the wheelchair was his throne or something) Derek was having vivid fantasies of toppling him out of it and running over him with the Camaro. He stepped into the washroom while Stiles ate his junkfood and looked with alarm at the persistent red tinge to his eyes.

"Go away," he told his wolf. Nothing happened. Derek closed his eyes and with all his willpower tried to force the wolf down. When he looked again, his fangs were out.

"Damnit! What the hell's going on?" Then it came to him. While Derek was wheeling Stiles around buying him food and winning prizes and doing whatever Stiles wanted, the wolf inside him viewed it as Stiles winning the struggle for dominance. The urge to go out there and hurt Stiles and make him submit was overwhelming. Derek wasn't even sure Stiles was safe from him now; if Stiles made one more demand…

Derek slammed his fist against the wooden wall of the washroom. "No! Get yourself under control, Hale! The last thing he needs is to get hurt because of you! Get it together, NOW!" Derek never focused so hard at banishing the wolf as he did then. When he looked in the mirror, the redness was gone and his teeth were human. He breathed slowly and deeply and walked out to find Stiles finished with his food and offering him the empty wrappers.

"Hey, throw this away for me? I just want to see the Gypsy fortune-teller and we can call it a night." Stiles was looking down at his lap and brushing crumbs away. He didn't see the clawed hand that snatched the wrappers before Derek walked towards the rubbish bin to dispose of them.

Derek wheeled him (a little forcefully, Stiles thought) towards the tent on the edge of the Carnival. Derek said nothing, not trusting himself to speech…if he was even capable of more than growls and snarls at this point.

The Gypsy was an older woman with hair that was mostly white, but still with some traces of the deep black it must have once been. She almost looked like a younger woman trapped in an older woman's body. She wore the standard colorful garb gypsy fortune-tellers seem to prefer as well as numerous necklaces, bangles and rings. She sat before a table that had all of the tools of her trade; a deck of old Tarot cards, a crystal ball that looked to be glowing, a phrenology head and a porcelain hand with a palmistry guide painted on it. The Gypsy looked back and forth between the two men, her eyes lingering on Stiles for almost a minute before she spoke.

"What is your name, young man?"

Derek grunted. "Shouldn't you know that already?"

"I'm Stiles. Mr. Sour over here is Derek." Stiles jerked a thumb at the Alpha.

"Stiles…that's not your real name, is it?" She had a knowing expression on her face.

Stiles grinned, impressed. "No, I just like to be called that."

"What brings you here, Stiles?" she asked in a low musical voice.

"Um, maybe Derek wants to go first…" Stiles was suddenly nervous for some reason. Derek shook his head once. The Alpha mentioned on the way over that he didn't believe in this nonsense which Stiles found ironic…half the werewolf legends he read about stated you became one from a Gypsy curse.

"He prefers to believe he controls his own fate. Unfortunately for him, he is right. The cost for this session will be $25, but you only pay if you are satisfied with the results. Now, let us first start with your head…"

So saying, she rose from her chair and stepped behind Stiles while Derek glared at her from a few feet away. Stiles felt her run her hands repeatedly feeling for bumps.

"Hmmm, very strange…" she whispered softly.

"I know I have a bumpy head. What does it mean?" Stiles was really curious.

"It means you are either a klutz or a magnet for bullies." she answered briskly, sitting down again. "Perhaps both." She answered Derek's glare with one of her own. "I also detect great intelligence and strength…yes, and loyalty as well. You have been a great friend, but few know what a powerful ally you could be. Even fewer know to fear you as an enemy."

Stiles gaped at her while Derek rolled his eyes.

"Now, let me see your left hand. It will tell me your past." She studied the proffered palm, her face becoming pale before her mouth finally dropped open in shock. She released Stiles' hand before covering her face with her own. She seemed to tremble.

"My son…you have faced many hardships…many enemies. You have experienced much pain." She stared directly at Derek when she spoke the next words. "And they all have one root cause." Derek felt his temper rising at the look the Gypsy was giving him. The Alpha wolf was struggling to get through the barriers Derek placed around it in his mind…but the barriers were already pushed past their limits. Derek looked away first and tried to control himself. It was a losing battle. "You have saved many lives too." she continued still gazing at Derek before turning back to Stiles.

The Gypsy took Stiles' right hand and gazed at it. "I do not see death for you anytime soon, nor for your father."

Stiles (who had been holding his breath) let it out in a whoosh. "Thanks…why did you tell me that first?"

She shrugged. "The question was in your mind, was it not?"

Stiles nodded. He was starting to get creeped out, but so far she had said nothing bad. Derek was pacing slowly back and forth trying to ignore the two of them. "What about my love life? Will…" An image of Lydia rose in his mind before he banished it. That was just not meant to happen. "…will I fall in love with someone who will love me back?"

` "The question you should be asking is 'will you love someone back who loves you?' It will be your decision when the time comes. That time is not far off…but it is most definitely not tonight."

"Oh…will I ever…you know…be strong and powerful?" Stiles was thinking about the bite and whether to finally ask Derek for it.

"Yes…there are several paths open to you, it seems. One way is brute power. The other…is to nurture the spark inside you." The fortune-teller looked troubled.

"You mean like magic? Wow! Dr. Deaton said I had potential." Stiles looked around to find Derek, but the Alpha had walked out of the tent.

"Be careful." the fortune-teller continued. "Magic sometimes commands a terrible price. Let me tell you a story…once there was a beautiful young woman. In her youth, she learned she had a gift…the gift of magic. She used it in small ways until she discovered that nature has a balance…to cause a rainstorm here, one must cause a drought over there, and that sometimes to open a floodgate means it can never be closed again. So she gave it up and found love and a family…until her child became sick. He was going to die. She knew the rules, and decided to make her sacrifice…to save a life, she had to give one. She-"

"Please…I don't want to hear anymore." Stiles said in a low voice.

The Gypsy nodded. "Very well. Let us see what the cards have to say." Stiles shuffled and cut the deck and handed it back to her.

Stiles got 'the Fool' for his significator, which made them both laugh. She drew another card. "The Wheel of Fortune is the force that rules over your life. Times may seem bad right now, but things will balance out. This, I promise."

The Devil came up for the past. "These are the battles you have won, and the enemies you have faced. More will come in the future…the Devil can only be defeated for a time…and he appears in the most unexpected places." She glanced out of the tent, after Derek.

Death was the root of his problems. "You have never dealt well with loss…too much was taken from you too soon. Though you will live, those dear to you may not be so lucky." Stiles gulped, and watched the faces of all of his friends flash through his mind.

The possible future was the Moon. "Man's civilized and bestial sides are shown here…waxing and waning with the moon…" she looked at him, startled. "…you seek this power, don't you? But you are unsure…it draws you and repels you. Oh child, be careful! I don't wish to say any more."

The definite future was the Hanged Man. "A reversal is coming soon…strange, I did not see that in your palm."

His fears showed the Emperor. "Your father…you love and respect him and have sacrificed much for his safety. You have also deceived him, but for his protection…the time will come when you must tell him the truth. Be prepared."

The views of friends and family showed Strength. "You tame wild beasts, not with force, but with friendship. Be warned, even a friendly beast may bite if provoked."

Hopes showed the King of Pentacles. The Gypsy stared at this card a long time, then closed her eyes. She breathed in deep and gave a great shuddering sigh.

"What's wrong? What's that card mean?" Stiles asked, bewildered.

"It is nothing. All will be made clear in time. Now you must go, I am about to close."

"Isn't there supposed to be one more card? The final outcome?" Stiles asked. According to the information card on Tarot reading in the little display stand, there were supposed to be ten cards in a reading. He counted nine.

The Gypsy took a quick glance at the last card and gasped. Then she shuffled all the cards back together and put them in a little black box. "No charge for this reading. Have a good night."

Stiles shrugged and wheeled the chair around, heading slowly out of the tent. He had been looking forward to the crystal ball reading, but oh well. It was probably more of a Magic 8-Ball anyway. When he cleared the tent he noticed that it was very dark, and the noise from the rest of the Carnival was almost gone. The moon was up…and full.

Shit.

The Betas could all control themselves by now, and Derek had long practice, so he really had nothing to worry about…

A pair of hands clamped on the wheelchair handles. Stiles found himself being pushed very fast on the rough ground, almost bouncing out of the wheelchair.

"Derek, stop! You're going too fast! I mean it, STOP!" Stiles shouted in real fright.

The voice that answered him sounded nothing like Derek. "I _DO NOT_ TAKE ORDERS FROM _YOU!"_ the Alpha snarled at him. Derek was completely wolfed out, and Stiles nearly wet himself at the look of rage and hunger on the werewolf's face. Then the chair _did_ hit a large rock and Stiles flew out of the chair, landing painfully on his right shoulder, and scraping his forehead on the pebbly dirt.

"_CLUMSY FOOL!_ BARE YOUR NECK TO ME BEFORE I TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!" Derek growled at him, dropping to all fours and approaching the wounded teen. Stiles tried to push himself backwards with his feet, forgetting his sprained ankle. He shrieked in pain and started crying again, the Alpha's glowing red eyes the only thing visible through his blurred vision.

"Derek, please…don't…"

Clawed hands reached for him.

"STOP!" shouted a familiar voice. Derek snarled again and turned to find the Gypsy standing there. She looked absolutely furious. A sense of power radiated from her, as if she were a human generator of some kind. Derek's expression went from rage to confusion as the woman's face actually began to _glow_ with a bright white light. She began to walk towards the Alpha with strong purposeful strides. Derek actually backed up. _Derek._

The Alpha gave a confused whine as she got closer to him. "That's right, beast! Down! Down on your belly! You would _dare_ to hurt this child that has sacrificed everything for you, who placed his trust in you? A child who has saved your own miserable hide more than once?"

Derek whined again like a whipped dog, even looking to Stiles for help. Stiles wasn't in a particularly helpful mood at the moment, but he didn't want anything gruesome to happen to Derek.

"Please, ma'am. It's the full moon, and he warned me yesterday that his wolf was acting weird. Don't hurt him or anything…he's good, or at least he tries to be." Stiles prayed she would listen. People rarely seemed to listen to him these days.

The Gypsy didn't take her eyes off Derek for a second, but she paused as if considering Stiles' words. The glow on her face grew brighter, and Derek shifted back to full human looking even more confused. The Gypsy had done it…shifted back an enraged Alpha werewolf with the force of her will alone. As scared as he was, Stiles was deeply impressed.

"Derek Hale, Alpha of your Pack! I curse you to know the harm you have done to this boy! The beast is banished from your being, you are a werewolf no longer! You owe this boy a debt! The curse will remain until that debt is repaid!"

The glow got brighter and brighter until it seemed as if the sun had decided to rise in the middle of the night. Then the light vanished, and the Gypsy along with it.

Derek got slowly to his feet, feelings of emptiness and worse…of _helplessness_ filled his mind. It was true...the wolf was gone, he could feel it. How did humans stand being like this? So alone and empty? So weak and vulnerable to any catastrophe they decided to blunder into? _This_ was the life Scott wanted to go back to? _This_ was what Stiles lived with every day, dodging teeth and claws and bullets while he tried to help his friends and keep his family alive? Derek felt an unknown horrible feeling surge through him…was this panic? His heart started to race while his breath came in short gasps.

He had to get rid of this curse. He looked up at the rising moon. "How can I repay him? LIKE THIS?" Derek shrieked. And where had his wolf gone?

A growl came from nearby. Derek slowly turned his head, knowing what he was about to see but hoping he was wrong. Stiles was getting to his feet. The cut on his head closed while Derek watched, and the boy's eyes took on a crimson glow.

Derek started to back away.

"Stiles?"

Stiles shook his head in confusion before glaring at Derek at the sound of his name. His mouth opened like a cavern of fangs and he roared a challenge at the ex-werewolf.

"Oh…shit." Derek turned to run, and had gotten maybe five feet before Stiles snatched up the wheelchair with one hand and hurled it at him. Derek crashed to the ground, agony throbbing in his back. He crawled a few more feet before Stiles bounded over to him and clamped his jaws on Derek's neck.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek felt Stiles' teeth press deep into his neck. The pressure grew until he was sure the skin must tear and he would choke while his life blood drenched the ground. The only thing he had to use was his knowledge of werewolf instinct. He let his body go completely limp and turned his head slightly to expose more of his neck to the beast that straddled him. Hot, wet (and yet not unpleasant-smelling) breath dampened his skin, and he heard the rumble of the great heart and lungs that worked feverishly inside the powerful body. Derek closed his eyes, starting to panic…the teeth closed even tighter. What was he doing wrong?

Maybe Stiles wanted something more.

"Stiles, I…I submit to you. Don't kill me." The words came out of him easily…too easily. Derek could not even kid himself that he didn't mean every word. He was terrified, but not just about the possibility he might die out here (although he was literally about to piss his pants)…he was terrified about what it would do to Stiles when he came back to himself. Derek had to genuinely submit to save both of them from something that could never be taken back.

A last warning growl made him convulse and almost drag his own neck through the killing teeth to try to escape. A few more seconds, and then the jaws released and the beast pulled back. Derek slowly, oh so slowly and carefully climbed to his feet, freezing for a few seconds when Stiles would growl at him as if testing his resolve. Finally Derek stood and kept his eyes down. His back ached fiercely and his neck itched. He rubbed at it, hoping to see a little blood (meaning he would be a Beta again), but his hand was clean.

Stiles had gone through almost the full Alpha shift, so his shirt was destroyed as were his sandals. He had worn orange baggy shorts that remained intact, protecting his dignity. The shift reversed itself, and the human Stiles looked around confused. He pulled off the shreds of his favorite t-shirt (it read 'The Man, The Legend' with arrows pointing up and down) and kicked the ruined sandals off. He looked around, anywhere but at Derek and whistled tunelessly. He even took a few steps, marveling at his healed ankle for a moment.

"How much do you remember?" Derek asked.

"Oh, uh…all of it." The words 'I'm sorry' kept trying to force themselves out of his mouth, and he kept biting them back. He wasn't and shouldn't be sorry…none of this was his fault, but…

He couldn't even finish the thought. Trying to think about how he felt was like trying to figure out cold fusion or time travel or girls. He felt something for Derek, but could put no name to it. So he just got annoyed and Glared.

Derek took a step toward him, and Stiles flinched, then roared at him with flaring eyes and white fangs. Derek jumped backward and cast his eyes down again. He waited, not daring to look until Stiles was once more in control.

Stiles focused his mind and remembered everything Scott and the others told him about finding an anchor, and finally settled on the image of his mother…how she would feel seeing him looking like a slavering bloodthirsty beast. It worked well, and the wolf subsided.

"Derek…you must know exactly what I'm going through. I think I have a handle on it, but you need to not make any sudden threatening moves….or challenge me in any way. I don't want to hurt you. Okay?"

"Yeah, Stiles. I got it."

Stiles crinkled his forehead. "I can feel the others, they're still here. I'm going to call them now."

Derek put his fingers in his ears, waiting to hear the Alpha summoning howl that could rattle a building, but Stiles just took the phone out of his shorts and sent off a mass text.

They arrived within ten minutes, giggling and laughing and clutching carnival junk-food or prizes from the midway.

Jackson walked over, smirking. "Stilinski, what're you doing out here with no shirt? You an exhibitionist now? Wow, you got some definition going on man, when did that happen? Good for you!" He slapped Stiles on the arm only to be picked up by the shirt one-handed and thrown across the field. He landed with a thunk before jumping to his feet and rushing Stiles, his eyes glowing sapphire blue…and stopped dead in his tracks. Stiles was giving him the good old crimson Alpha Glare, and Jackson promptly looked down and bared his neck.

"Mom, mom, mom, mom…" Stiles chanted before shifting back. "Okay, guys. Derek got himself cursed by the Gypsy that works here, so now he's human and I'm your big bad brooding emotionally constipated feelings-failboat surly McSourwolf, so no sudden moves or I may hurt you. I don't want to, but you know how it is."

"You've got to be kidding me," Erica did in her best Mean Girls tone.

Scott was bewildered. "What, who, how, where…"

"Oh, shut up, idiot." Stiles grumped before clapping his hands over his mouth. "Oh my god, Scott, that wasn't, I didn't…" and again, the apologetic words refused to come out. He stared at Derek.

"Are you fucking kidding me? I can't say…aaagggghhhh!" Stiles stomped off a few feet.

Derek, in spite of his back pain and anxiety over this whole mess, managed to give Stiles a grim smirk. "Now, you understand."

Jackson was staring at Derek, who was liking his expression not at all. "Derek's human? Okay, who wants to throw him around like a rag doll first? I owe him for about twenty broken bones, but I'll settle for breaking ten." Lydia smacked him upside the head, and pointed at Stiles who was coming for him like a freight train. Jackson shrieked, but it was cut off when Stiles squeezed his windpipe shut.

"Listen to me Jackson AND the rest of you, and listen very carefully…none of you will lay a finger on him unless you want that finger…and then your face…bitten clean off." He dropped Jackson to the ground. "And if you want to talk about who deserves payback for abuse around here Jackson, you just come find me. I'd be happy…" Stiles sprouted claws that looked like scythes. "…to go over some fond memories of me and you since about third grade."

"None of us would do that, Stiles. We understand." Allison told him gently. Lydia and Erica nodded in agreement while the boys looked confused.

"Understand what?" Boyd asked.

"THAT I'M THE ALPHA NOW!" Stiles roared at him.

"Yeah…that, too." Lydia muttered.

"Is there any way to break the curse and make Derek the Alpha again?" Isaac asked. Stiles Glared at him, and he started to stutter. "N-not that you w-wouldn't make a great Alpha, Stiles, it's just th-that…"

"I agree with that plan…just try not to say those kinds of things around me. The wolf… doesn't like it." Stiles clawed hands were clenching and unclenching as if itching to get around Isaac's throat.

Danny looked at his watch. "Guys, I have to get home. Call me tomorrow if you want to meet up and figure this out."

"Lydia and I will come with you, if you wouldn't mind dropping us off." Allison kissed Scott goodbye while Lydia did the same to a still gasping Jackson.

"Man, I need to be an Alpha…" he choked out. Stiles walked away before he ripped the blonds head off.

"The rest of you go home too, I have to talk to Derek privately. Be at Derek's house tomorrow at noon. Don't be late. Jackson, you will buy lunch for everyone and bring it. Everyone text him what you want. Feel free to order as much as you want from all different restaurants."

They left, Jackson whining like a puppy while Lydia consoled him by telling him her lunch order.

"Why didn't you tell me this was so hard?" Stiles asked pointedly.

Derek thought of an answer, then had to rephrase it twice in the form of something that wouldn't get him killed.

"_Because_ it's hard. You can't apologize, you can't admit weakness, you can't show fear, doubt or regret…and you can't tolerate insubordination. Sometimes talking is so hard that I…"

"...just Glare until the other person goes away?"

Derek nodded. "While I have the chance to say it, I'm so sorry…about all of it."

Stiles rubbed his eyes. "Is it always going to be like this? I've got to tell you…I don't like it. If we can fix this…then let's do it. The wolf is _growing_ inside me, Derek. I don't know what I will be like tomorrow, hell maybe even tonight!"

"It's _not_ always going to be like this. It's just when you're a new Alpha…Laura learned to say she was sorry about things three years after the fire. It just takes time…it's a process. If it hadn't been a full year since I became Alpha I don't think I could have told you I appreciated you last night. It took all my willpower."

"It did look like it was causing you pain," Stiles laughed.

An awkward silence fell between them.

"I guess I should take you back home?" Derek ventured respectfully.

"I'M DRIVING!" Stiles roared.

{}{}{}{}

Stiles got home in time for his curfew, not that it mattered since his father would likely not be returning until noon tomorrow to catch a few winks and head back in. He thought Derek would just drive off to get away from him, but the ex-Alpha followed him inside and up to his bedroom.

"Will you be all right tonight?" Derek asked him.

"I'll be fine." Stiles told him gruffly. More silence. Derek got up and moved towards the door.

"Derek!" Stiles snarled.

"Yeah?" Cool as a cucumber.

Stiles' face turned red with effort. The mouth opened, closed, and opened again. "Stay!" he barked. The wolf was overlaying his human mind. People concerns were becoming far off and muted. Pack mentality was becoming everything.

Derek smirked. "Feeling protective of your weaker Pack members?"

Stiles nodded, still red-faced.

"Where do you want me?" The question came out sounding almost seductive. It dawned on Derek that he was a little drawn to Stiles…natural enough in Beta werewolves; Derek knew of plenty of Packs where the Alpha would bed some of the Betas until a suitable mate was found…but Derek was not a Beta anymore. Did werewolves have a natural allure that could affect humans like him, an allure that Alphas would have in abundance? Derek had never experienced difficulty attracting partners (and he knew perfectly well that he was fucking hot)…even Kate for all her insanity had been at least genuinely attracted to his body. He remembered now that she would always describe him as sexy (with no lie detected), but had not once said she loved him. She had still burned his family alive without hesitation or remorse…so there went the animal magnetism theory. Why on earth then would Derek feel this suicidal attraction to a guy who would rip his throat out at the first wrong move or spoken word? It was insane. The attraction might even be mutual.

Stiles pointed at the bed, so Derek went and sat down on it. Stiles stared at him.

"Use your words, Stiles." Derek told him gently.

Emotions, mostly anger-related, swept across the Alpha's face. "Get comfortable," he told Derek in the same tone one might use to say "Stop stabbing me in the balls."

Derek stood and took off his leather jacket and hung it on the chair and kicked off his shoes and socks.

Stiles kept Glaring. Derek sighed and shucked his jeans revealing black boxer shorts.

No change in the Alpha. Off came the Henley t-shirt. Stiles may have licked his lips, but Derek wasn't entirely sure.

"You can't be serious?" Derek pointed at his boxers.

Stiles huffed and stood up, shucking both shorts and his own boxers with no embarrassment whatsoever. He flicked off the light (and Derek marveled that he was now blind in the darkness for the first time) and pushed Derek rudely onto the bed. Derek had three seconds to get under the blanket before he was crowded into the wall by an Alpha who was all up in his business.

"Stiles, you're not going to…" Derek's voice was several octaves higher than it had ever been since puberty.

"I just need this. It helps." Stiles said no more, wrapping an arm around Derek's waist and biting his neck with his (human) teeth. Stiles dropped off to sleep, and within an amazingly short time Derek did too.

{}{}{}{}

Derek woke up alone. He inhaled to see if he could scent Stiles, and smelled….nothing. His nose seemed to be clogged though he could breathe. His ears seemed to be stuffed, though he could hear the birds outside the window. His eyesight was normal, but lacked the ability to see well in the dim morning light shining past the closed curtain. Derek opened the curtain and gasped in pain as his eyes adjusted.

"Why is every little goddamned thing so painful?" he muttered. When he sat up, his back sent an agonizing objection roaring up into his brain. He lay back down again. That wheelchair had done some damage. A pity it was broken since it looked like he needed one.

Stiles kicked the door open and walked in (wearing his orange shorts once more) with a tray holding a bowl of Cheerios. There was no milk, and no spoon.

"Here." Stiles grunted. More Pack instinct, making sure the young and helpless were fed.

Derek took the bowl. "I'll just go grab a spoon and some milk…" Stiles snarled. "…or not, dry cereal is my favorite."

Derek grabbed a handful of Cheerios and brought it to his mouth, still laying down. He controlled the suicidal urge to choke on the dry cereal, but Stiles' Glare made Derek's body decide it could do without oxygen for a few seconds, thank you very much.

Stiles reached over and pulled Derek into a sitting position, causing Derek to yelp in pain. Stiles peered at Derek's bruised back and was suddenly next to him rubbing his right hand up and down over the afflicted areas. Derek couldn't help but groan in pleasure as the pain ebbed away. The Alpha's ability to heal others had taken him 6 months to learn, but Stiles just picked it up instinctually.

'He's so strong,' Derek thought to himself. 'he has no idea how strong he is.' Derek leaned his head on Stiles' shoulder and moaned, his exposed throat within easy reach should Stiles decide he wanted another taste. Instead, he just growled his approval and worked harder at his task.

"Any ideas on how to solve our little problem?" Stiles asked in a voice that was half-growl.

"A few. None of them pleasant for me." Derek groaned thinking about what it might mean to 'repay the debt' he owed Stiles.

"Let's hear the first."

Derek told him.

{}{}{}{}

"Are you sure about this, Derek?" Stiles grunted.

Derek nodded. They were standing next to Derek's Camaro in front of the old Hale mansion. For this to work, they were going to need privacy. There might be a lot of screaming.

"Just do it." Glare from the Alpha. "Please." Derek amended. He had just finished taking a few of Stiles' left over pain pills. He prayed that wouldn't be considered cheating.

Stiles sighed and grabbed Derek by the throat and slammed him into the side of the Camaro. Derek screamed.

"One." Stiles began the count. He picked Derek back up like a doll and slammed him back down again.

SLAM. "Two."

SLAM. "Three."

{}{}{}{}

Derek lay on the couch in agony. The head slam into the steering wheel was the worst. Derek wondered if he had a concussion. Stiles came in and once more used the healing technique to fix Derek up as best he could. Derek would still need some time to heal naturally, but at least he no longer felt like he was dying.

Stiles sat in a chair across the room when he was done with his ministrations. His eyes widened when he saw that tears were flowing down Derek's cheeks.

"Derek? What's wrong? Was I...too rough? Do you need to see a doctor?"

Derek shook his head. "My god, Stiles. Is this what I did to you all the time? _Why the fuck didn't you get away sooner?_" Derek Hale, once Alpha of his Pack, lay sniffling and red-faced with wet cheeks as it hit him all at once. The horror was just too big. Stiles helped him. Derek hurt him. Stiles helped him again. Derek hurt him again. And Stiles helped him yet again.

"Derek, it's fine…" Stiles tried to put some emotion in his voice and failed.

Derek lost it then and actually began to bawl, turning and burying his face in the pillow and howling his anguish into decayed smoke-smelling fabric.

"You went from emotional constipation straight to diarrhea," Stiles told him, a bit uncomfortable with this display.

A car pulled up out front. Jackson's voice called out. "What the fuck happened to Derek's Camaro?"

Stiles was out the door and on the lawn blocking Jackson from getting any closer to the house in an instant.

"What." Stiles growled at him.

Jackson was tossing a familiar looking sharp stick from hand to hand. "It's Saturday. You know, Pack Meeting Day. I brought lunch, like you asked. You always get a cheeseburger and curly fries…and I got two for you in case you um…eat more now." Nervousness was coming off Jackson in waves.

Stiles groaned. He forgot about the meeting. Other cars were pulling up now and spilling out the rest of the Pack.

"Stay out here until I call you in. Do not dare disobey me, I can't be held responsible for what would happen." Stiles snarled at them. He jogged back inside.

Derek was gone from the couch, but Stiles quickly traced him to the kitchen where the tap still produced cold water. Derek was washing his face, his eyes puffy and this horrible broken expression fixed firmly in place. Stiles felt a strange pain in his chest.

"Sit out the meeting upstairs. I don't want the Pack to see you like this." Stiles said in the same steady monotone voice that was the only alternative he had to snarling and growling. He thought of it as his 'nice voice'.

"Why?"

'_Isn't it obvious? Do you want them to see you vulnerable and weak? They'll remember this when you're Alpha again. They may challenge you; I know Jackson would. I'm trying to protect you, idiot!'_

Stiles tried to say what he was thinking on this lower instinctual and animal-like level, to reproduce the meaning into words, but all that came out was "Do what you want."

The Alpha went outside to call the confused Pack in. Derek had gone out the back door before the others came in. He must have circled around to the front again, since they all heard the Camaro driving away before they even finished setting out the food.

The question that was in all their minds went unspoken, so grim was their Alpha's face.

"I'll take Derek's food and…" Jackson began. Stiles growled at him. "…and put it in this cooler to save for him!" he finished. Stiles huffed and bit into his cheeseburger, signaling the rest of the Pack that they were now allowed to eat. Lydia sat down on the couch with her Bento Box and jumped up again. She picked up Jackson's stick off the couch.

"Jackson, put that stick away somewhere before I do. Why the hell are you bringing it everywhere?"

He shrugged. "How many people can say they have a stake that killed a real vampire?" he asked tossing it up in the air again.


	4. Chapter 4

"When did it happen?" asked the Ring Master. A man of indeterminate age, he was dressed in a black suit with a silk shirt of dark crimson with a matching black cape. A heavy gold chain with a large ruby pendant lay on his chest; he wore no other jewelry. His skin was white with a slight ever-present flush on his cheeks. His hair was dark, matching his thick goatee. Not a single gray hair was evident anywhere. The fingers of his pale hands looked wrong somehow, slightly too long and too thin, but very strong hands all the same.

The Gypsy and the Freak Master cast down their eyes. She waved her hand over the crystal ball, the milky white mists parting and showing Jackson Whittemore looking around before reaching into the coffin and running off with the stake.

"Last night, shortly before closing." The Gypsy's voice was subdued.

"Did I not instruct you to use your power to prevent any humans from meddling with it? Is your famous gift failing you, Marianna? Or were you just derelict in seeing to your responsibilities?"

The old woman stiffened. "The stake was warded with a True Dweomer in the Language Primeval. No witch alive could have broken it…but it was only warded against humansby _your order_, so that we who knew the danger could handle it with care. The boy isn't human; a Pack of werewolves resides in this town."

"_Werewolves?_ I have not encountered a shape shifter in over a hundred years. Very well, they have an Alpha I presume? Contact him at once and have them return it, and tell him to mobilize his Pack for the hunt since it was one of his sorry lot that let that creature loose. Marcus, take some of the more powerful freaks under your command and search the town and hunt the bloodsucker down. He must be returned before he creates more like him. Remember, we only have one week before we must leave…no power can change that."

Marcus bowed deeply. A frightening looking man, he had eyes of such a pale pale blue that they were almost white, with a mane of white hair and matching beard that gave him an uncivilized almost wild look. He was of generous height and girth, his hands large and powerful with muscles bulging underneath his nondescript clothes. Naked, in dim lighting…he might possibly be mistaken for a Yeti.

Marcus left to rally his creatures. Marianna remained still.

"What is it?" the Ring Master asked impatiently.

"The Alpha is under a curse. I turned him human last night for trying to attack a human member of his Pack. The wolf was banished into the boy…an outcome I did not foresee."

The Ring Master looked at her silently for a few moments. "I don't think I need to remind _you_ of the price for using your gift in such an irresponsible fashion. If tragedy comes of this, it is on your own head. Do you understand what that could mean?"

She nodded her head once. She hoped he did not know the full extent of her transgression…but he was the Ring Master.

"Very well. Return to your tent. Your attraction will be closed for the remainder of our stay in Beacon Hills. Your sole responsibility will be in providing Marcus' troop with the information they need to re-capture the Baron. Be on hand should I need to summon you. And Marianna – "

She looked up at the Ring Master's violet eyes.

"Have no further contact with the boy."

Marianna nodded once more.

There was the rustle of something like wings, and the Ring Master was gone. Marianna gave a broken sigh and studied the ball in her hands. The vision was still playing out, and she watched dejectedly as the bones of the coffin-bound skeleton simultaneously cracked, spilling blood and sprouting veins, arteries and capillaries that wound themselves along and around every surface until the skeleton was completely covered in red. The tendons and sinews came next, fastening questing ends to each of the joints before tightening with a creak, causing small premature jerks and movements as if the skeleton were already alive. The gaps in the rib cage filled with tissue, obscuring organs that seemed to be knitting themselves out of thin air. The half-heart was already beating weakly, spurting a small amount of blood with each pump. Finally the skin began to appear in patches in seemingly random places, each piece growing steadily until it connected with other pieces. They were loose at first, in some places actually hanging from the limb in question…but they soon began to tighten up and pull their scattered pieces together. The fingers and toes produced nails and the facial features pushed out of the blank skin covering the skull, the sockets bulging obscenely for a moment as new eyes settled themselves under the thin skin. Fine baby hair pushed up from the scalp before falling out to be replaced by thicker adult hair so black it was almost blue. Thin arched eyebrows penciled themselves in as the lips flushed a dull red before parting to reveal white sharpened teeth.

Just as the eyes opened to reveal black lifeless orbs, the corners of the mouth pulled upward in a hideous smile.

The man had been a murderer in life, his crimes nearly too terrible for the history books to record. When people thought of vampires, they always spoke the name of Prince Vlad of Wallachia, truly a brutal tyrant though motivated by a genuine desire to unite his kingdom and liberate it from the hands of an even worse tyrant whose army numbered in the thousands. Vlad's tactics were a necessary evil to throw the invading forces into terror and disarray. It nearly worked; his name was a legend and not just because a few hundred had almost overthrown an empire.

People were wrong. Vlad had never risen as one of the undead, except in the mind of an imaginative Irish writer and the nightmares his novel inspired in his readers.

But _this_ vampire, though noble in life, had spent little time soldiering and had no interest in warfare.

What interested him were children. And the things he could make them do.

His name was Gilles de Rais, and he was a monster.

{}{}{}{}

The Pack Meeting ended, and each member left with their assignments which all had the same goal; to figure out how to return the Alpha wolf to its rightful owner.

Jackson and Lydia would go back to the Carnival that night to see if they could find out something about the Gypsy who started all of this. Scott and Allison would raid the Argent library to find out everything they could about curses, while Isaac and Danny would do the same on the Internet. Boyd and Erica would be on 'Derek duty' to protect him while he was vulnerable. They were instructed to ignore any protests and do whatever it took to keep him safe.

"Or to put it another way, your lives end shortly after his does." Stiles told them.

They nodded, gulping loudly.

"I'll track him down and bring him back here. In the mean time, I want the rest of the Pack to report in to you with any findings or at the end of every hour."

Stiles took off and went running through the woods towards town, Derek's scent a glowing trail in his mind.

His loping bounds ate the distance to his destination, moving faster than any Beta could dream of doing. Animals fled from the slightest hint of his scent, but none of them were his prey now. Maybe later, when he was feeling peckish.

Emerging from the woods, he spied Derek filling up his tank at the gas station next to the convenience store.

"Going somewhere, Derek?" he asked as he sidled up behind the ex-Alpha.

Derek jumped about five feet.

"Stiles! What do you have, some kind of Creeper fetish?" Derek complained, one hand on his chest.

"Get back in your car and head over to the house. Boyd and Erica will watch over you until we sort this out."

"Why the hell should I listen to you?" Derek knew he was asking for it, but he no longer cared what Stiles could do to him.

"Because I asked you politely, and I-" he began.

"You only do that once. I know, I know. I should write all of my old lines down so you could practice them in a mirror. That one was a little dead on the delivery."

Stiles slammed Derek against the car, but far more gently than he had that morning.

"That's tweny-four." Derek choked out.

Stiles blinked and released him. "You must _really_ like feeling weak and helpless. I need you _alive_, idiot, so that you can be what you're _supposed_ to be. I don't want to be stuck like this forever, a -"

"A fucking Sour Wolf?"

Glare. "Derek…I know how this must be for you. I was in your position for two years. Put up with it. Being alone and vulnerable has never turned out well for anyone in this Pack. I need to know you're safe so I can concentrate on the mission."

"I feel like I'm not even Pack anymore. I don't feel _connected_ to anyone!" Derek turned away, completely missing the hurt look that crossed Stiles' face when he said this. The Alpha's power to speak left on one of its urgent errands that left him staring and clenching his fists.

"You _are_ Pack," Stiles said after a minute of said activity. "You're important to me. To all of us. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"But I don't have your research skills, Danny's technical skills or Allison's Hunter training…what do I have to offer the Pack as a human? Stiles, if this curse can't be broken…I'm nothing. I have no education, no money, no fucking use."

"You were Alpha for a year. You have experience and knowledge. You are the only born werewolf aside from Peter, and I don't trust him. I _need_ you…in the Pack."

Derek sighed. "Is that all you need me for?"

Silence again. Derek turned and went inside the convenience store to pay for the gas.

Stiles wrestled with the wolf's presence in his mind, struggled to find the words he needed to say to Derek to make him understand. The night they had spent together, with a naked Stiles spooned firmly into a nervous Derek, gripping him tightly as if afraid he would vanish…he had no idea how Derek had missed the meaning there. Any of the wolves would have picked it up, but Derek didn't, though he'd been human less than six hours at the time. Stiles needed Derek, _wanted_ him even…but his wolf would never let him say that.

Chris Argent pulled into the gas station looking frazzled. He started to pump his gas, then replaced the pump and marched over to where Stiles was standing.

"Where's Derek? I need to talk to him. There was a murder last night, and if it has nothing to with his Pack, then I'm-"

_"My Pack."_ Stiles interrupted him.

Chris looked at him wide-eyed. "What?"

"I said, the Pack is mine." Stiles seemed almost to growl.

Chris noticed immediately that there was something different about Stiles. His stance and body language, his voice…it was all very different from the foot-shuffling hands-in-pockets slouch that implied someone was afraid or intimidated by the people around him. Stiles would never meet Chris' eyes for more than a second before they jumped away to gaze at something else before flicking back warily. Now he looked Chris directly in the eye, and it was only long experience and confidence in his ability as a Hunter that kept him from stepping backward or looking away.

"What about Derek?" Chris asked.

"Derek is Pack. The Pack is mine. _Derek_ is mine."

This had to be some kind of game, or maybe the kid had just gone a little crazy with everything he had seen. If Derek caught him acting like this, especially saying things like 'Derek is mine', the Alpha might put Stiles in the hospital.

"Look kid, I think you've been running with the wolves too long. Come with me, and I'll take you home-" Chris clapped his hand on Stiles' shoulder, clamping down to let the kid know he meant business.

Derek came out of the store at that moment. "STILES, NO!" he shouted.

There was a flash of crimson lightning, a growl like thunder and a rainstorm of fangs…

{}{}{}{}

Chris pulled back his bleeding hand. Stiles bit him! He'd just been bitten! By Stiles! A Stiles with _glowing red eyes!_

All the color drained out of Chris' face.

"No…oh my god, no…" Chris stepped back. The blood poured from his hand, the bite-print of an Alpha impossible to mistake. He fell backward, thoughts of Victoria…dead by her own hand…and Allison, doomed to be an orphan if Chris followed through on the Hunter Code of Law. If you were turned, you had to die.

"Now _you_ are Pack. You are _mine._" Stiles snarled at him.

{}{}{}{}

While Chris Argent was downstairs in the Stilinski home screaming at Allison and Scott, Derek and Stiles were upstairs. The teenage Alpha was sitting on his bed underneath a poster of Batman with a bag of beef jerky (picked up from the ill fated convenience store) which he was tearing into with relish.

"Why the hell would you bite Allison's father? Do you know what this means? They'll expect him to kill himself, and if he doesn't the other Hunters will kill him!"

Stiles stopped chewing and swallowed noisily. "What would you have done if he'd come over and grabbed _you_ Derek? I seem to remember you bit his wife."

"He didn't know you were an Alpha, Stiles!" Derek shouted.

Stiles' eyes flared crimson. "_Now_ he knows. And use your inside voice with me, Derek."

Derek threw up his hands. Stiles was being impossible. Stubborn, head-strong, willfull, arrogant, sexy…

Derek stopped pacing. That line of thought had to be stopped right the fuck now before the Alpha smelled it on him.

Stiles had tossed the bag aside. He took a few deep breaths and walked over to his computer desk. Sitting down, he opened his word processor and began to type swiftly. He pointed at the resulting message.

'I KNOW I FUCKED UP. NOT MUCH I CAN DO ABOUT IT.'

"You can go downstairs and settle down Chris Argent so no more blood is spilled tonight."

Stiles typed again. 'YOU SURE THAT'S WISE?'

Derek sighed. "I'm not sure of anything. I don't know if you _could_ do anything, but you have to try. Why the hell are you typing?"

'IT'S EASIER THIS WAY TO SAY THINGS LIKE _I'M SORRY_.'

"Holy shit…" Derek was impressed. "How does it work?"

'I RUN A SONG THROUGH MY HEAD WHILE I TYPE TO DISTRACT THE WOLF. I'M USED TO SPLITTING MY ATTENTION FROM THE ADHD.'

Derek's eyes widened. "Well, I'll be damned. Go downstairs and bring the laptop with you if you need it. Chris is trying to tell Allison he has to kill himself and Allison is freaking out that you attacked her father and now she's going to be an orphan, and the rest of the Pack is home going crazy wondering what their out of control Alpha will do next."

Stiles covered his face with his hands, trying to think and sing to himself so the wolf couldn't redirect his impulses into useless aggression.

He got up and followed Derek downstairs. Allison was in tears and Scott was semi-wolfed out in sympathetic distress. Chris was staring fixedly at the bite on his hand waiting for it to suddenly knit together, a sure sign that the Bite had taken hold.

"Dad, please…you can't do this, I just lost Mom…I'll be all alone without you!" Allison sobbed.

"It has to be this way. I've followed Hunter law my whole life. I can't just stop when it's convenient! Your mother knew that, and she never hesitated to do her duty! This is the life I signed on for, _we_ signed on for! You're old enough and strong enough to lead, and if you get bitten, I fully expect you to…"

Chris stopped himself and sat down, covering his face with his hands. Allison had a horrified look on her face, and even Scott's fang-filled mouth was open in an 'o' of surprise.

"Dad…you can't mean that!" Allison whispered.

Chris said nothing.

"What if I get bitten, Dad? What if I refused to kill myself? Would you come after me? Would they?" Allison's eyes were very dark in contrast to her pale skin…paler than usual now. The freely flowing tears had ceased.

Chris got up and turned toward the far wall.

Stiles' voice startled them all. "You kill your own _mates_…you kill your own _young_. Remind me why Hunters believe they have the high ground?"

"Because you're all…_we're_ all monsters." Chris lowered his head.

"You were one _before_ I bit you, Chris." No one commented that Stiles had stopped calling him 'Mr. Argent'.

"It takes one to fight one."

Derek threw up his hands. "Enough! This isn't getting us anywhere! Didn't you become a Hunter to _stop_ all the killing? The wolves who went rabid? I hate to say it, but Stiles is right! The _Hunters_ have gone rabid, Chris! Your father and my uncle showed us that it's not what you are, but _who _you are that makes the difference! I put my uncle down when he got out of control, Chris…the least you could do is give yourself a chance to see what it's like before you do anything your daughter will regret. If you lose control, we'll stop you."

"_I'll_ stop you." Stiles growled. "Until then, you stay alive. You're Pack now, Chris…and certain choices have been taken away. Male Hunters are used to following orders, right? So follow mine."

"Allison?" The unspoken question revolved in the air.

"Do what he says, Dad. He's your Alpha now."

{}{}{}{}

He stood in the center of this strange new town, reveling in the long missed sensations of once more having a body and feeling the urges that came with the body. Urges that, when satisfied, brought indescribable pleasure. He had spent the day sleeping in a treehouse, almost praying that the young boy who owned the dwelling would come and find him. Gilles would play a game with him then…handing the child an egg and telling him that as long as he held that egg and kept it unbroken and whole, then Gilles would never harm him.

Then Gilles would show the boy his true face. Children _always _dropped the egg when they saw it. Then Gilles would feed, would comfort, would torture, would console…and then finally kill. To terrorize a child was too simple; the greatest joy was in getting them to believe in something over and over again that was as false as the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus…the belief that they would escape with their lives. He would give it to them and yank it away until the time finally came when they didn't care anymore…and that would be when their wretched lives would end.

But the boy, caught exactly at that point where tree-houses seem not nearly as fun as the collection of adult magazines stored under his mattress, had decided that today was better spent peeling apart the stuck glossy pages of the latest issue and enjoying the singular pleasures of life. Nevertheless, the sun had gone down and now he would be able to hunt at leisure, making the meat all the sweeter.

Gilles closed his eyes and focused his will.

A mist began to gather in the streets…it flowed upward from the damp earth and snaked tendrils like creeping snakes surging throughout the town. It came up out of the sewer grates though it did not smell of rot and decay, it came from the water though it did not smell of salt and the sea. Some of the fog was pouring off of Gilles' own body until Beacon Hills was lost in a pea soup of the stuff. The newly risen moon made the fog glow with a pearlescent silvery whiteness, and Gilles' feet left the ground. At first, he bobbed about in the foggy air, his keen eyes seeing straight through the mist as in the noonday sun.

In the night, there came the sounds of claws scratching on glass…then the high-pitched laughter of a child.

Then came the screams.


	5. Chapter 5

The body of Natalie Weiss was found decapitated in her room, her head fastened to the dress-maker's form her mother used in her work as a seamstress. The head was rouged garishly with make-up until she resembled a clown, and then dusted down with glitter. She was fifteen, and from the posters in her room it was clear that she was an ardent fan of the _Twilight_ movies. Blood-stained copies of the books with the pages torn out littered the floor.

There was not a great deal of blood anywhere else in the room. The coroner's examination of the body suggested that the girl was beheaded as the result of an animal chewing through her neck…an animal that applied make-up to her dead face afterward. There were no signs of a struggle.

A note was found at the scene, verified to be the girl's handwriting.

_'Dear Mom & Dad. Don't worry about me. I am so much happier now. Love, Natalie.'_

The killer had given her an enormous red smile using almost an entire tube of lipstick.

During the entire two-hours it took to get her to her new room at the Psychiatric Treatment Center where she was heavily sedated, her mother never stopped screaming.

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When Sheriff Stilinski came home, he settled down gratefully to the meal that his son cooked for him, glad to leave thoughts behind of Mrs. Weiss having a total nervous breakdown. Her speechless and white-faced husband haunted him even more. He was calmer than she was, but Steven knew the look on someone's face when they were totally destroyed inside; he saw it in the mirror every day since he lost Stella.

Stiles was sniffing at him, trying to be unobtrusive about it at first but then finally giving in and literally smelling up and down Steven's arms. The Sheriff stared at his son until Stiles finally pulled back.

"Son, what are you doing?" Steven waited for the convoluted and ridiculous-sounding lie his son would no doubt tell him, the latest in a string of lies that had been going on for nearly two years.

"Smelling you." Stiles offered. Steven was impressed. It was the truth, at least.

"I noticed that. Perhaps I should expand my interrogative skills and ask you _why_ the hell you were smelling me?"

"You smell like death."

The answer shocked Steven. Stiles said it with 100% flat confidence, and his eyes never left Steven's own.

"I investigated a murder today. What exactly do you smell? Blood?"

"I'm not talking about the _girl_." Stiles closed his eyes. "Although…I can almost picture her…yeah, the Twi-hard girl. Natalie? I smell _her_, but that's not what's unusual, Dad. I smell the thing that killed her…and it's dead…not like _decomposing_ dead…just…not alive."

Steven stood up, his appetite leaving him. "Son, how do you know her name? _No one_ knows, we haven't released anything yet! And what the hell do you mean when you say the killer's not alive?"

Stiles stood up also, and seemed to be fighting some internal battle. He shook his head back and forth as if trying to shut out some horrible noise.

"Danger…you're in danger…have to protect you…you're mine…make you strong…safe…my…Pack…_Jesus, Dad! Run!_"

Steven Stilinski watched his son's eyes flare from the deep chocolate brown he inherited from his mother to a demonic fiery crimson. His open mouth revealed lengthening teeth while dagger-like claws sprouted from his fingertips. Stiles' sleeves tore as muscles in his arms bulged and humped beneath his skin. The ears developed points while his brows grew thicker. The face seemed about to push out into an actual muzzle when Stiles howled, its raw power nearly shaking the house to its foundation. Steven moved so that the kitchen table was between him and his rapidly transforming son. Stiles reached down and hurled the table across the room, sending plates of food flying.

"Stiles…what the hell…"

As his son launched himself through the air at him, Steven did something he had never done in all of his years on the force. He turned tail and ran. He somehow managed to get through the front door, feeling what must have been claws tearing his shirt in the back before he escaped into the cool night air. Down the steps, with the creature that was once his son just a step behind him, Steven picked a direction and pounded the pavement with no thought of a destination. No time to get into his cruiser, no time to call for help, no time to wonder what the hell was going on and no time to even look backward and see how soon it would be before Stiles ripped him to shreds.

The pain started in his left arm before suddenly lancing in towards the center of his chest. Steven was past his prime, and even in his heyday he never had cause to run full out like he was doing now. Against his will, he slowed and finally stopped, panting and gasping in pain. Stiles slowed down as well, but still approached him slowly, growling as if there were a chainsaw in his lungs.

Steven clutched at his chest where an invisible hand gripped his heart in an icy vise. He looked once at Stiles pleadingly before the color drained out of his face and he fell to the ground as his monstrous son bounded over, wolf-like jaws drooling saliva. Steven managed a short scream before the pain in his chest reached a sudden flaring crescendo as Stiles bit deeply into his side. Steven's mind came apart as he seemed to speed towards a bright light at the end of a long black tunnel. But just before he got to the end, just before he got to see what was on the other side of the door (a door he had sent no small amount of killers through in his long career) something growled in his mind, and a clawed hand seemed to yank him back.

{}{}{}{}

"He's waking up. That was a close call, Stiles." Melissa McCall put away the penlight she'd been shining into Steven's eyes.

"Stilinski men are tough. I knew he'd pull through." Stiles growled. He knew no such thing, but felt the urge to always give the appearance of strength to others.

Steven sat up, placing his hand on his chest in remembered pain. No sign of it now.He was on the couch in his own living room, and there seemed to be a crowd of people around him only some of whom he knew.

Steven's shirt was gone, and he looked down once more wondering where the slight paunch he'd developed in his forties had gone. He glanced at his side to see the bite wound…or the spot where the bite wound had been.

"I'll ask one more time…what the hell is going on, Stiles?" Steven saw that Stiles was human looking once more, but with that same steady unblinking almost sullen look on his face that hadn't left the past few days.

"I'll tell you, Dad. I'll tell you the truth, all of it…you deserve to know. You always have." Stiles handed his father a note.

_'I'm sorry for all the lies. And for biting you, though I couldn't help that. Stiles.'_

"Well at least one good thing came out of all of this. Go on, tell me."

And Stiles did tell him the truth, all of it. At the end, Steven thought his son never did a kinder thing than lie to his face for two years.

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"So why did you bite me?" This was the only part Steven had trouble understanding

Stiles rolled his eyes. "To protect you, Dad! You're a werewolf now, and if you come across this thing again, maybe it won't just rip you open like a bag of blood!"

"I know _that_, son! I'm asking why you bit me without _asking_ me, without telling me this first_?_ You just…reacted! Like something was forcing you to do it!"

Stiles sighed. "The Alpha instincts are too strong for me to fight, Dad. As soon as I realized the danger, the wolf in me did the only thing it could do to guarantee your safety…it made you Pack. This wolf inside me…" Stiles glanced around at Derek and Peter who looked away in remembered pain. "…has lost too many family members already. It didn't want to take chances."

"So you aren't in control then?" Steven could already see a hundred ways this could be really bad.

Stiles snarled. "I have all the control I need. It's the _creature_ you need to worry about…it's walking death. To be human and face it is to die. As a werewolf, you might have one shot in ten to survive. With a Pack, we can even kill it."

Peter handed Sheriff's shirt back to Steven. "I can vouch for what your son is saying. The scent we're getting off of it is like nothing I've ever encountered before."

Steven was still getting used to his own enhanced sense of smell. He had already marked each person in the room and could now identify them if he had to in a completely dark room…not that his eyes were blind in total darkness anymore. He looked ten years younger and felt twenty years younger. There was no denying that everything Stiles said was true, including his own ability to transform…not that he was looking to do that any time soon. Sighing, he lifted his own shirt to his face and smelled. Mostly, it smelled like him…the human he had been. It was very different than the scent he was giving off now. Sniffing again, he detected blood, saliva, traces of Stiles. He smelled the odor of the Weiss family, their home and the room the young girl had lived in. He smelled her blood, her perfume, the stench of make-up. Overlaying it all was the other scent, the one he knew they were talking about. It was the scent of something that had just died, but only just. The way Peter put it, when you smelled something dead normally, you could also smell it _changing_ as the body decomposed. This scent did not change at all as if it was frozen in that very moment when life left the corpse.

Something shuddered in him, and Steven got the creeps the way someone does when they realize that a room in their home long thought to be empty was occupied. Something was moving down in the depths of his being. Something was reacting very strongly to the scent…to the _danger_ the scent represented. It welled up inside him, and he felt himself change for the first time.

"Holy Mary…" he whispered, reaching up to touch his new face.

{}{}{}{}

They slept that night in the Stilinski home. Stiles and his father shared the master bedroom while Derek slept in Stiles' bed with Peter on the floor. Allison and Chris took the two sofas in the living room. Jackson and Lydia slept on an air mattress in the den while Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Danny were on sleeping bags. Now and then one of the wolves would wake briefly and peer with a slightly lambent gaze at the glowing fog that continuously rolled past the windows. Boyd swore he saw a shadowy shape flit past…but it could have been his imagination. He gave out a soft growl before falling back to sleep.

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The next morning, Stiles once more sent Jackson out to buy food, this time groceries. Melissa arrived with Dr. Deaton shortly after he returned, having just worked another late shift at the hospital. She reported that Mrs. Weiss was still under heavy sedation while her husband was at home drinking himself into a coma. The Sheriff took this news grimly.

"This thing has to be stopped, whatever it is. What on earth smells dead, but isn't?"

"There's only one thing it could be. A vampire." Dr. Deaton said simply.

"Vampires are real too? I've been living in a horror movie my whole life and didn't know it?" Steven slammed his fist into the nearest wall, punching easily through the drywall. He looked at his hand in surprise.

"Don't wreck the house, Dad. We just finished paying it off." Stiles told him absently. He was scrolling through the Bestiary on his laptop until he reached the entry for vampire. Unconsciously, he extended his fangs and began clicking them together in his mouth.

"It says here vampires are extinct. The last one, some guy named 'Gilles de Rais' was destroyed years ago by a Hunter who deliberately infected himself from the bite of an evil Alpha werewolf, which he then destroyed to gain its power. That gave him the edge he needed to get one over on this Alpha vampire that was described as a murderer of children. After the Hunter staked it with a special enchanted stake, he killed himself and unintentionally passed the Alpha position on to his son who had been a Beta for years. Hmm, the son kept it hidden from the rest of the Hunter family. He disappeared after that, and it doesn't say his name. The vampire's skeleton could not be destroyed, so it was handed over to the mage that created the stake. He's some kind of collector, whatever that means. Let's see, weaknesses…for Betas, it's the usual thirteen: stakes, sunlight, garlic, holy symbols, running water, arithmomania…it cannot pass an uncounted pile of poppyseeds without dying…bizarre…, wooden stakes, roses, fire, silver, magic, attack by other supernatural creatures…and it has to be invited into dwellings or die upon entering."

"What about the Alpha?" Derek asked.

Stiles bit his lip, drawing blood. "The same, but the Alpha loses one of its weaknesses every time it kills. If it can take thirteen victims, it becomes utterly unstoppable."

They pondered this horror silently.

"We have some time. A death and resurrection restarts the process. It's terribly draining…you always start at the lowest level of power. Believe me, I know." Peter's eyes were dark with memory.

"What about _its_ powers?" Chris Argent wondered aloud. The part about the Hunter who staked the creature having the abilities of a werewolf as well fascinated him. It was unheard of to use the strengths of one monster to fight another. There was already a precedent set…maybe he _could_ find a way to live with his Code of honor intact.

Deaton spoke up next. "I could tell you those…it has the same strength, regenerative abilities and heightened senses of a werewolf. Physically you would be on an even playing field against the Alpha, Stiles. It can create Beta vampires known as thralls under its control, but weaker…they would be evenly matched against a Beta werewolf. The Alpha vampire has a host of powers as well that a Beta lacks…telekinesis, pyrokinesis and telepathy. These start off low grade but get stronger as it kills. It can hypnotize its human victims, but wolves will shrug that off. Defensively, it can create fog and even direct it to cover its tracks. It can summon normal bats to defend it from any attackers. Vegetation will wilt and die in its presence. Oh, and it can fly. As we know, all vampires are immortal, capable of living hundreds if not thousands of years."

Jackson had arrived with several bags of shopping by this point and had heard the tale end of the discussion. He turned pale as milk at the look Stiles was giving him.

"So, Jackson. Any idea why we might suddenly have a vampire murdering people in our town? Pull any stakes out of any skeletons lately?"

The entire group looked at him.

"Uh…but…I thought it was a gag…why would they have the real thing on display at a freaking carnival? Anybody could have taken that thing!"

Stiles considered. "You have a point, not that this will be any consolation to the Weiss family. What did you and Lydia find out when you went back to find out about that fortune-teller?"

"Her tent was gone. So were half the freak attractions. A few of them told me to talk to the Ring Master, but he was 'away on business'. No one there seems willing to talk; they all act like someone's watching them."

"So you found out nothing at all?" Stiles was clenching his fists as if he longed to get them around Jackson's throat. Jackson stared at them with wide eyes.

"NO! Um, I mean, Lydia did find something! Show them, Lydia!" he sounded panicked.

Lydia sighed, seeming completely unmindful of Jackson's distress. "I found this scattered around the Ring Master's office." She held up a small vial with a speckled powder inside.

Stiles peered at it. Lydia opened the jar and let him sniff. Stiles gave off a disgusted sound before pushing the vial at Jackson, who quickly closed and pocketed it.

"Mountain Ash! And something else…garlic, eugh. And…salt."

"Mountain Ash will keep out the wolves and garlic will keep out vampires." Lydia paused for effect. "The salt is for ghosts."

"Ghosts?" Stiles exclaimed.

"Ghosts are repelled by salt. Don't you remember from that 'Supernatural' marathon you made me watch?" Derek still sounded resentful.

"I _know_ that…I'm just thinking I have to wrap my head around the possibility of real ghosts too." Stiles closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Let's see what Wikipedia has to say about Gilles de Rais."

The Pack gathered around Stiles' laptop and read the entry. When they were done, they all felt physically ill…especially Jackson.

"I let that evil fucker loose? And he's killed people?" Jackson turned even paler and sat down on the couch. Lydia remembered how much guilt Jackson felt over the deaths he caused as the Kanima and bit her lip, now truly worried about him.

"Yeah, Jackson. More blood on your hands, and no Matt or Gerard to blame it on this time." Stiles told him scathingly. Jackson froze. He stared at Stiles as if slapped, then walked outside without a word to anyone. Lydia turned a furious gaze on Stiles.

"I don't know whether you have any idea just how _cruel_ that remark was…and I can't decide which way would make me hate you more."

Stiles opened his mouth to say something (he didn't know what) when a horrible roar sounded followed by Lydia's piercing scream. Everyone rushed outside to find Jackson writhing around on the ground. Black ichor was pouring from every opening in his body, and the teenager had already raked himself from face to stomach several times with his sharpened claws. The broken vial lay nearby.

Deaton stared at him. "He ingested the Mountain Ash!"

Lydia's mascara was streaked with tears. "There's…no cure, is there? I read about it…werewolves get gradually sick and die…in incredible pain."

Deaton nodded. "It's what we did to Gerard…or what he did to himself when he betrayed everyone and forced Derek to turn him. Let's get him to my clinic. I can help to ease some of his pain there.

Deaton picked up Jackson and loaded him gently into the back of the clinic van. Lydia got in with him, shooting Stiles one of her famous dagger-glances when he tried to follow.

"Try it and so help me, I'll scream. Stay away from him." Lydia pulled her door shut as the van sped away.

Stiles flinched as he felt his father's hand on his shoulder. The young Alpha's expression was stormy as he fought an internal battle with himself.

Chris approached him then. "I know this may be pretty tough for you to hear, Stiles…but Lydia's not the only one who's a little concerned about how you're handling your Pack. Just remember that it's not the _wolf_ who should be in charge…it's you. If I weren't a Beta, I could never appreciate how hard it must be for any werewolf to control himself…and I know how much harder it must be for you. Stiles, if you don't get control of this thing, then-"

Stiles' eyes flared crimson. "Then _what_? You threatening me, _Hunter_? You haven't done so good a job at keeping your own family together, have you? Your sister and father both went rabid with the thrill of killing and your wife took the coward's way out! The fact that your daughter still talks to you after all your lies and bullshit…"

Chris shoved Stiles, hard. Stiles fell back a step, surprised…but then quickly recovered and went for the Hunter in the throes of a full Alpha shift. Scott, Boyd, Erica, Isaac and the Sheriff had to pull them apart. Derek, Danny, Allison and Melissa watched from the sidelines feeling human and helpless. Peter stood by, smirking.

When Stiles finally shifted back and stood there glaring at Chris with his father's restraining arm (and the only one Stiles wouldn't rip out of its socket), Chris wiped the blood from his face and glared right back.

"I was going to say that 'you're going to continue to hurt people you love.' You're right, I'm guilty of that too…I was trying to spare you the pain of losing them forever. But I'm wasting my breath. When everyone you love is either dead…or alive and hating you, see if you don't take the cowards way out, you stupid kid."

Chris turned and started to walk away. He stopped when he heard Stiles roar, falling into an attack crouch and getting ready to meet the Alpha-shaped locomotive that was no doubt charging toward him…but Stiles remained where he was. His face was flushed red, and his eyes were glowing like hellfire. Blood was pouring from his clenched fists while his taut body vibrated with effort to some unknown purpose.

Stiles fell to all fours, gnashing outsized teeth and shaking his head back and forth. Steven was just about ask if werewolves could have seizures when Stiles stopped and became calm. He stood up panting heavily, and took a few steps away from his father to face Chris.

"I shouldn't have said that about your wife…or what I said to Jackson. I shouldn't have bitten you…or my father…or hurt Derek the way I have." Tears began to fall from the lambent eyes.

"I…I'm sorry."

"Holy shit…" whispered Derek and Peter at the same time.

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Deaton laid Jackson out on the steel gurney in his examination room. Black ichor continued to pour from his ears, nose and mouth. His body was convulsing and heating up.

"He took a hell of a lot more than Gerard did…Lydia, he's fading fast. There isn't much I could do to help him…the rites and spells I know would take too long to work. He has literally minutes left. Even if they did work, sometimes there's a price tag attached."

"I don't care what the price is, if there is anything you can do then you do it." Lydia had to pull her hands back…the heat coming from Jackson's skin was too strong.

"There's only one thing that's guaranteed to work. Wait outside…and remember the words you just said to me."

After Lydia walked outside, Deaton moved quickly into one of the back rooms where some of the more exotic animals were stored to a tank in the very back. Whispering a few druidic protective spells, he reached in and took out the emerald green serpent that lay within. It was a rare (almost unique) offshoot of the _tic polonga_, or African pit viper. To say that its venom was deadly was an understatement.

Deaton returned with it to Jackson's side. The heat had increased, and blisters were even now beginning to form on his skin. The vet ripped open Jackson's shirt and stretched the snake out to its full length before placing it on the boy's reddening skin. Deaton closed his eyes, praying in turn to all of the Celtic gods he served…Diancecht, Cernunnos, Morrigan, Belenus and Sucellus. The only chance Jackson had…the only thing that might make this work (a thing which had never been done _intentionally_…ever) was that the guilt and remorse he felt would open his soul to the only spirit animal that was immune to all physical and magical harm.

The kanima.

Deaton watched the viper move forward with an almost curious interest. If it bit, Jackson would die…more from the price of rejection than the venom. The viper reared up, hissing…and nosed its way into Jackson's open mouth and slid smoothly down his throat. The heat coming from his skin faded away and took on the cool almost clammy feel of a cold-blooded reptile. When Jackson's skin started to darken and become scaly, Deaton called Lydia back into the room.

She started to shake her head and back away when she saw Jackson.

"What did you do to him?" she gasped.

Deaton gave her a hard look. "You said you would pay any price. _This_ is the price. He may yet be a werewolf again, but in the meantime he needs a master. I can't do it, my religion forbids me. Since you love him, it needs to be you."

Jackson's arm began to rise, the palm of his scaly hand with its venom-dripping claws…venom that she herself was immune to…awaited her decision. Lydia stepped close and joined her hand to his.

And Jackson opened his eyes.


End file.
